


Toothpaste Kisses

by whatcolourmyeyes



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2015-03-03
Packaged: 2018-03-12 08:50:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 8,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3350672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatcolourmyeyes/pseuds/whatcolourmyeyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of Tasertricks drabbles based on prompts I got on tumblr.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Working It Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Darcy and Loki both work at a place that gets a lot of traffic for Valentine's Day (flower shop, sweet shop, fancy restaurant, etc.) but both of them are single and kind of annoyed with that fact.

She’s made a bit of a game of it: guessing how long each couple will last. The guys in the corner might not even make it through the meal, Darcy wagers. _I mean, the dude on the left has been hitting on Loki since the first course._ Loki pretends to be oblivious to the man's attentions, but he's neither humble nor stupid enough to be so unaware of the effect he has on people. Especially people who are already thoroughly disappointed in their choice of date. _And what’s Valentine’s for, if not disappointment?_

Darcy isn’t usually so bitter – no, just ‘sarcastic’... ‘acerbic’ on a good day – but it's literally the _holiday_ for date-nights and here she is, stuck working in an Italian restaurant in Manhattan watching other people eat overpriced fettuccini while the creep at Table 3 stares at her tits.

Still, college loans won’t pay themselves.

Loki stands at the bar, folding linen napkins into swans with a level of disdain he typically reserves for poor tips and teenagers.

“Happy Valentine's...” Darcy ventures. Half statement, half question. Loki doesn't answer, doesn't even look up when Darcy slips behind the bar to join him. ”Shitty Valentine’s?”

He hums in assent.

“Hey, if the accountant bails, I'd say you have a good shot at the art curator,” she whispers, nudging Loki out of the way with her hip as she reaches for a drinks menu from the stack behind him.

“Hm?” He glances up at her. ”Not my type.”

“Are you absolutely certain?” Darcy keeps her tone light. “Loki, behind that well-crafted, prematurely balding exterior could lie a _passionate_ man. A man who seeks abandon in the earthly pleasures of the fle-”

“Oh, do shut up.”

At least there's an amused upward tilt to his lips now.

“What _is_ your type, then?” She hadn’t meant to ask, it just sorta slipped out. _So very juvenile_ , her conscience scolds her. It’s the kind of question meant only for sleepovers and overnight camps.

Or flirting.

Which she isn’t doing. Because Loki and Darcy don’t flirt. They exchange banter. They engage in battles of the wits. They _do not flirt_.

But even as her brain insists that there's nothing going on here, Darcy's eyes are flitting to Loki's mouth, her cheeks growing hotter and _it must just be the size of this bar, it's really not big enough for two people,_ because she's feeling claustrophobic and smothered and they're too _close_. Past friendly levels of close and veering into 'if either of us moves any closer we might kiss' territory. And part of her wouldn't mind if they did.

She shouldn't be thinking that about Loki, shouldn't be thinking that about her _freakishly hot and unattainable_ friend. But now that the mental image is there, it's impossible to ignore.

“My type?” Loki enunciates slowly, and a slow smile spreads across his face. Darcy gulps. She's seen that look before. It's the look he uses on whichever guest he’s hitting on for the night. “Well, right now, I’d say about five foot four, brown-haired...” He trails off, taking a step toward Darcy. “And perpetually in my way.”

Then his hands are at her waist, bodily lifting her up and depositing her a couple feet over so that he can slip out from behind the bar with a smirk. He grabs his completed napkin origami and waves it triumphantly.

“Tease.”

“Temptress,” Loki answers, his eyes intense, and fixed solely on her.

So Darcy forces a laugh – because they're friends and they're just joking except she isn’t sure that she _is_ joking though she feels that she _ought_ to be. The laugh is high pitched and embarrassing and Darcy runs away before she can ingrain the confused look on Loki's face into her memory.

_Stupid Darcy._

She has never been so eager to rush off and fulfill her duties as a waitress. She pours water into glasses with the efficiency of someone in a high-level game of Diner Dash.

 _‘Temptress.’_ It’ a sibilant sound that oozes seduction and promise and _want_. Absolutely none of which, Darcy reminds herself, are appropriate in relation to Loki.

_Stupid Loki._

Table 3 orders his pasta with a broad leer and Darcy resists the urge to smack him upside the head and tell him to go fuck himself.

“Right away, sir,” is what she says.

“Is this about the vegetable pepper or your girlfriend Pepper?” Darcy overhears Bruce asking as she pushes the heavy door to the kitchen open. _Looks like Chef and Tony are having another therapy session_. ”Because my specialty is _food_ , Mr. Stark.”

“Man, you’re missing the point here!” Tony cuts Bruce off, pacing back and forth across the tiled floor. He looks up and catches Darcy standing in the doorway. He smiles a thousand megawatt grin, like her feminine subtlety – disguised under her barely-professional black jeans and oversized button-down – will be the solution to all his problems. “Darcy.” Tony runs a hand through his gelled hair. “What do I do? Pepper isn’t answering my–”

“Hey, Chef!” Darcy interrupts, reaching up to tuck a Post-It into the order rack. Tony’s nostrils flare, no doubt unimpressed by her nonchalance in the face of his life-threatening girl troubles. ”One plate of the penne all'arrabbiata, please.”

“Sure thing,” Bruce answers, wiping his hands on a dishcloth.

“Thanks, Lewis,” Tony grumbles.

 _Help_ , Bruce mouths from behind a pot of pasta, and Darcy shakes her head. She’s the last person in the world who should be giving romantic advice right now. _Bruce has got this. Probably._

 _Good luck_ , she mouths back at him

“Have fun!” she calls as she slips out of the kitchen, the door swinging behind her.

She immediately freezes in her tracks.

“Darcy?”

 _Oh, fuck_. She clears her throat.

“Hey, Loki,” Darcy says, trying for ‘bright and cheery.’ She clenches her fists so that her hands will stop fidgeting. “Fancy seeing you here of all places.”

Loki rolls his eyes.

“I wanted to give you this,” he murmurs, his voice huskier now. Darcy finds herself trapped between the bordello wallpaper (she told Tony that burgundy was a bad choice) and this Adonis who for no apparent reason is giving her the sex stare.

“What is it?” Darcy squeaks as he hands her a small envelope. “A card?” Her voice is getting more and more high-pitched, and God, would he _stop staring at her like that_.

Loki’s lips twitch.

“Not quite.”

She can _feel_ him watching her as she struggles to open the damn thing without ripping it to shreds.

“Wha- it’s empty,” she says when she looks inside, and Loki grins.

“It was short notice, and I’m not particularly good at this,” he admits.

“Good at what?” Darcy asks softly, and Loki just licks his lips before leaning toward her, his hands coming up to cradle her face.

“Figuring things out,” he answers.

Darcy isn’t sure who moves first, only registers that her fingers are knotting themselves in Loki’s collar and then his mouth is landing on hers, a light pressure. _He’s too damn tall_. Darcy tugs him to her level and Loki deepens the kiss, his tongue slipping between her lips with practiced ease, hands tangling in her brown curls.

“I’d say you’ve got a pretty good handle on things,” Darcy gasps when they finally break apart. Her hair is falling out of her bun, Loki’s shirt is wrinkled, and Table 3 probably wants his pasta, but she couldn’t care less, because this right here is fucking _perfect_.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Darcy Lewis,” Loki murmurs against her lips.

(The sound of the kitchen door swinging open makes the two of them jump apart. Darcy at least makes an attempt to look innocent – Loki grins widely – but Tony simply mumbles something half-hearted about them getting back to work and then strides right back into the kitchen, shouting something to Bruce about a bet.)

(All in all, it’s a pretty great Valentine’s.)

 


	2. Matchmaking

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a highschool au texting fic: unapologetically fluffy and ridiculous  
> Prompt: "Yenta Matchmaker Thor trying to get Loki & Darcy together."

FRIDAY

12:30 p.m.

[T to L]: so there’s this girl in my chem class

[L to T]: thor

[L to T]: stop texting me

[T to L]: i see you’re interested

[T to L]: let me tell you more

[L to T]: thor seriously

[L to T]: you’re LITERALLY SITTING ACROSS FROM ME

[unsent text from T to L]: but you don’t like it when i talk to you

[T to L]: so her name is darcy

[L to T]: you’re not going to let this go, are you?

[T to L]: and she’s really pretty

[T to L]: and also smart

[unsent text from L to T]: are you even trying to be subtle?

[T to L]: and funny

[L to T]: how wonderful

[T to L]: i think you’d like her

[T to L]: did i mention that she’s jane’s friend

[T to L]: hey

[T to L]: why are you leaving

[L to T]: because you’re annoying me

[T to L]: but loki

[T to L]: we could double-date!

[L to T]: no. definitely not.

 

1:20 p.m.

[D to J]: jane

[D to J]: JANE

[J to D]: what is it?

[D to J]: you know thor’s brother?

[J to D]: the dark one?

[D to J]: sure

[D to J]: wait what do you mean the dark one? is there another one?

[D to J]: cause just saying, I would not object to another one

[D to J]: if there were hypothetically...

[J to D]: darcy was there a point to this?

[unsent text from D to J]: asides from he’s rly hot? i mean, what?

[D to J]: oh, no reason

[J to D]: riiight

[J to T]: THOR ODINSON I THOUGHT WE AGREED: NO MEDDLING.

[J to D]: anyway, are you coming to chem party after school?

[J to D]: the test is on monday

[D to J]: will there be cookies?

[J to D]: darce it’s in a chemistry lab

[D to J]: true. guess i’ll have to bring my own snacks :D

[unsent text from J to D]: darcy, the lab handbook clearly states-

[J to D]: when you die from HCl cookies it’ll be your own fault

[D to J]: i’m getting chips ahoy *nudge nudge*

[J to D]: my favourites? now that’s just cruel

 

1:47 p.m.

[T to L]: it’s valentine’s tmrw

[L to T]: thor i’m in class right now

[T to L]: so do you have plans?

[T to L]: what class?

[L to T]: no i do not have plans

[L to T]: calc

[T to L]: with stark?

[L to T]: yes

[T to L]: darcy’s in that class!

[unsent text from L to T]: yeah i know

[unsent text from L to T]: she smiled at me

[unsent text from L to T]: ok she’s cute you win

[L to T]: really

[L to T]: i hadn’t noticed

[T to L]: oh

[T to L]: mom thinks you’re getting more antisocial

[L to T]: can we not get into this

[T to L]: do you think that’s true? you’ve been acting weird since the winter break

[unsent text from L to T]: yeah i wonder why

[L to T]: stark is staring straight at me

[L to T]: now is not the time

[T to L]: i bet mom would be less worried if you went out every now and then

[T to L]: jane suggested we all get together on saturday

[L to T]: i changed my mind

[L to T]: i have plans tomorrwoersd

[L to T]: Mr. Odinson, please refrain from texting your brother in class.

[L to T]: And I’m sure Loki would be thrilled to join you.

[L to T]: – Tony Stark

 

1:53 p.m.

[T to D]: are you busy tmrw?

[D to T]: um that’s the 14th. as in valentine’s .

[T to D]: so are you busy?

[D to T]: hahahaHAHAHA

[D to T]: nope

[D to T]: but aren’t you?

[unsent text from D to J]: petition to make thor stop reminding me of my perpetual singledom?

[T to D]: well jane and i wanted to go to a movie and we were wondering if you wanted to join us

[D to T]: and you need an official third wheel why?

[T to D]: you won’t be a third wheel. loki’s also coming.

[unsent text from D to T]: wait wHAT

[unsent text from D to J]: is goldilocks trying to set me up with the emo odinson??

[T to D]: you in?

[unsent text from D to T]: it depends. does loki always look so angry?

[unsent text from D to T]: shit we just made eye contact

[unsent text from D to T]: he’s glaring at him. welp maybe he hates me.

[unsent text from D to T]: or maybe he just hates calculus?

[D to T]: i’ll think about it

 

4:37 p.m.

[L to T]: well now stark’s assigned me extra homework

[L to T]: thanks, bro

[T to L]: LOL

[L to T]: fuck you

[T to L]: so you’re coming out with us tmrw night?

[L to T]: this again?

[T to L]: i already told mom you’re going

[T to L]: she was really happy

[unsent text from L to T]: i thought you were above guilt-tripping

[T to L]: please?

[L to T]: dsjfkhdgd

[T to L]: is that a yes?

[L  to T]: i hate you

[T to L]: great see you at the theatre at 7

 

6:19 p.m.

[D to J]: i ate too many of those cookies

[J to D]: there’s no such thing as too many cookies

[J to D]: wait how many is ‘too many’

[D to J]: how many is a whole box?

[J to D]: wow

[J to D]: i’d be concerned but that’s actually super impressive

[D to J]: i try :P

[D to J]: p.s. I FUCKING HATE CHEMISTRY

 

SATURDAY

6:27 p.m.

[T to J]: you ready?

[J to T]: yes

[J to T]: but i’m still not sure about this plan of yours

[unsent text from J to D]: darce i need to tell you something

[J to T]: i feel like we’re lying to them

[unsent text from T to J]: well we are lying to them, technically

[unsent text from T to J]: loki does the same all the time

[T to J]: it’ll be fine

[T to J]: i promise

 

6:40 p.m.

[D to J]: jane where are you

[D to J]: there's no one heeeere

[D to J]: wait i think i see loki

[unsent text from D to J]: jane he's wearing a leather jacket jane i can't

[D to J]: sdgsdfh

[D to J]: text me when you get here

 

6:41 p.m.

[L to T]: please tell me you didn't bail

[L to T]: thor

[unsent text from L to T]: you planned this didn’t you?

[unsent text from L to T]: you son of a

[L to T]: you’re the WORST

 

6:55 p.m.

[D to J]: update: you still aren’t here. shocker. thanks for abandoning me with tall dark and brooding.

[unsent text from D to J]: srsly does loki not speak or is he just struck dumb in my presence

[D to J]: this movie had better be FUCKIN A

 

7:15 p.m.

[D to J]: this movie is literal shit

[unsent text from D to J]: on the plus side loki bought me popcorn

 

7:45 p.m.

[D to J]: ok the story is trash, the acting is wooden, and i’m officially emotionally invested

 

7:50 p.m.

[D to J]: WHAT THE

[D to J]: I DIDN’T SIGN UP FOR SOME DOOMED LOVE STORY SHIT

 

8:01 p.m.

[L to T]: thor she’s crying

[L to T]: WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO

[T to L]: what did you do?

[L to T]: surprisingly enough, nothing

[L to T]: i’m not the one who picked the next fucking titanic as the movie of choice

 

8:23 p.m.

[L to T]: now she’s leaning on me

[unsent text from L to T]: actually this is nice

[unsent text from L to T]: wait so now do i just not move my shoulder until she moves

[unsent text from L to T]: this could get inconvenient

 

8:39 p.m.

[D to J]: in the interest of science

[D to J]: i conducted an experiment

[D to J]: and i have determined conclusively that loki’s shoulders are rly comfy

 

8:41 p.m.

[L to T]: so the entire left sleeve of my sweater is wet now

[L to T]: pls inform darcy that i’m not a bloody human kleenex

[T to L]: awww

[L to T]: shut up

 

9:02 p.m.

[L to T]: the movie is over why is she still crying

[L to T]: thor how do i make her stop

 

9: 07 p.m.

[unsent text from L to T]: shit

[unsent text from L to T]: i just

[unsent text from L to T]: holy shit

 

9: 11 p.m.

[unsent text from D to J]: dsfgksgskjgd

[unsent text from D to J]: jane loki just kissed me

[unsent text from D to J]: why would he do that

[unsent text from D to J]: and wHY DID HE HAVE TO BE SUCH A GOOD KISSER

[unsent text from D to J]: i want him to do it again

 

9:13 p.m.

[L to T]: coming home now

[unsent text from L to T]: i did it again

[unsent text from L to T]: i don’t think i regret it

 

9:25 p.m.

[J to D]: so how was everything?

[D to J]: …

[J to D]: darcy?

[D to J]: ;;;)))

[J to D]: darce what does that mean

[D to J]: not telling

[D to J]: you’re not back in my good books just yet

[unsent text from D to J]: oh but i wanna tell you jane ksdjfdsg

 

10:30 p.m.

[L to D]: darcy lewis. greetings.

[unsent text from D to J]: jane he just texted me he actually wanted my number

[unsent text from D to J]: i’m not strong enough for this JANE HELP

[D to L]: hey, poopface

[L to D]: okay that’s going as your name in my contacts list

[D to L]: whatever, jerkyjerk

[L to D]: i think you need to work on your insults

[D to L]: i think you need to work on your fACE????

[unsent text from D to L]: that’s a lie your face is a+

[L to D]: wow

[L to D]: could you use more question marks?

[D to L]: ummm yes??????

[D to L]: ?????????????????

[unsent text from L to D]: god you’re adorable

[L to D]: fine i cede defeat

[D to L]: as you should

[D to L]: also

[D to L]: just wanted to say that tonight was really nice

[unsent text from D to L]: mostly the making out part

[L to D]: nice?

[L to D]: well i feel positively cheap now

[D to L]: oh shut up

[unsent text from D to L]: it was amazing, ok?

[L to D]: i’ll endeavour to be better than ‘nice’ next time

[unsent text from D to L]: next time?

[L to D]: ;)

[D to L]: i look forward to it

[D to L]: see ya monday?

[L to D]: as you wish

[D to L]: oh no don't go all princess bride on me it's my kryptonite... you'll make me want to kiss you again

[L to D]: that was the plan, lewis

 

10:48 p.m.

[D to J]: fine you’re forgiven


	3. Un-Valentines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Darcy has organized an Anti-Valentines day Singles night at a local community center and closet die-hard romantic Loki (who is part of the city council? Is a bartender? I’m not sure what the most interesting way to get him involved would be but there are multiple possibilities) comes to see why she’s so cynical."

It started as a joke. ‘Happy un-Valentine’s’ and all that. But then it turned out that quite a few people in town were interested in an actual event. And of course, Darcy Lewis, as leader of the perpetually single, was nominated as to organize the event. Because if you’re going to be single on Valentine’s day, then why not be single and drunk, surrounded by other drunk, single people?

“One gin and tonic,” Darcy says as she slips onto a barstool.

“Certainly.”

The guy behind the bar has an accent –British, she thinks, though she can’t quite place it – and she’s still sober enough to recognize that he’s attractive in a more-than-average way. He sways his hips to the music as he measures out gin, bobbing his head as he throws in ice cubes and a wedge of lime.

It’s really fucking cute.

“Miss Lewis?”

“Just Darcy.” He slides the drink down the bar. “Thanks.”

She takes a gulp of her drink, trying to pretend that she doesn’t notice him watching her.

“Darcy, then.” The man’s lips twitch, and Darcy wonders if he’s somehow mocking her. “I’m curious. Why all… _this_?”

The bartender gestures to their surroundings; the streamers along the walls of the community centre, the multicoloured balloons (ever shade except red and pink).

“Well, I’m not really a hearts and flowers kind of girl,” Darcy answers, eyes flicking to his face and away again, because he doesn’t seem to have asked this to make conversation. He looks like this is somehow _important_ to him, and it’s making her nervous. She concentrates on the sweat building up along the outside of her glass tumbler, wondering why it matters to him. _He’s getting paid for this gig. What’s it to him?_

“Right.” He obviously doesn’t believe her. “See, I think you’re lying.”

Darcy almost chokes on her sip of G&T.

“What?”

“Why would you go to all this effort to go _against_ Valentine’s unless secretly you really _did_ want… what was it? Hearts and flowers?”

Oh, the _nerve_ of him.

“Or maybe I just don’t like Valentine’s.”

“I’ll allow for that possibility, but… if that were the case, then why do you look so miserable?”

“Miserable? I don’t look-”

“That wasn’t up for debate,” Pretentious-douchey-bartender-man smirks. He crosses his arms, leaning against a barstool like he’s won a prize. Clearly he’s having a grand time making her uncomfortable.

“Your face isn’t up for debate,” Darcy mumbles. She finishes her drink in record time, slamming the glass back down on the bar with more force than is necessary. “What do you care, anyway?”

“Call it curiosity.”

“I won’t call it anything. I want to know the truth.”

“Ah, you’re one of those.”

“One of those what?”

“The kind that like knowing.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

The bartender grins.

“Well it’s rather less fun, isn’t it? Another?”

“Please.”

He nods, mixing up her second drink.

“The not knowing… isn’t that what makes love so tantalizing? It’s all about risk and danger and the possibility of being rejected.”

“So you’re a romantic,” she accuses him.

“No, I’m simply-”

“Oh, you are! A closeted die-hard romantic.” He rolls his eyes. “It’s sweet, you know. You could probably attract a fair number of girls with that attitude.”

He shakes his head.

“Not the one I want, I hear.”

“Oh?”

“Apparently she doesn’t believe in romance.”

“Sounds like a real piece of work.”

“I’ve always liked a challenge,” he answers, those piercing green eyes meeting her blue ones.

Darcy bites her lip. _Smooth motherfucker._

“So do you have a plan, Romeo?”

“I never liked that play,” Loki mutters. “What do you think she’d like?”

“Well, actually,” Darcy whispers conspiratorially, leaning on the bar. “Hearts and flowers don’t necessarily sound _all_ bad.”

 


	4. Hearts and Flowers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Darcy is sad seeing all the Avengers with their significant others, and complains how no one will give her chocolate and roses. Loki brings her Asgardian food and flowers from his mother’s garden.

Attending an Avengers Valentine’s party probably wasn’t the best choice considering Darcy had just got broken up with. Over text message. By Ian Boothby of all people. She had always taken him for the dumpee type. But apparently she didn’t deserve even that kind of closure. Just a single message: ‘I think we should be friends.’

\--

Jane and Thor are slow-dancing in the corner, Clint and Tasha disappeared about half an hour ago, Stark has already pissed Pepper off (he tried to give her a 50 ft-tall teddy bear despite her numerous complaints about his obsession with oversized plush animals), and Bruce and Steve both cited ‘prior engagements.’ Meaning that they have dates. Meaning that Darcy is the only person here who’s still single.

Well, and then there’s Loki.

“Miss Lewis?”

_Speak of the devil._

“Hey,” Darcy says, trying not to sound strained.

“Do you need anything?”

“That champagne, if you’re not drinking it,” she answers, nodding at the flute in his hands. “And… well, company wouldn’t be entirely unwanted right now.”

“Is that an invitation to join you?”

“Don’t get cocky.”

Loki takes a seat beside her, a smile dancing on his lips.

“Champagne, milady.”

Darcy readily accepts the drink, mentally adding this moment to her list of reasons why Loki Laufeyson is secretly a total dork.

(It also doubles as a list of reasons why she’s falling for him.)

“Many thanks, good sir.”

“Do you require anything else, fair one?”

Darcy almost splutters at the endearment.

“Only a boyfriend. Or at least some roses and chocolate.”

Loki looks at her for a moment – she can practically see the cogs turning in his head – before rising to his feet.

“Two minutes.”

“What?”

“Roses and chocolate. I’ll be back.”

Darcy stares at his retreating figure, trying to work out what exactly just happened.

\--

“Miss Lewis,” Loki whispers into her ear, and Darcy almost jumps out of her seat, her champagne sloshing in its glass.

“Jeez, you didn’t need to scare me like th-” Darcy stops when she looks at the box Loki has deposited on her lap. Lifting the lid off, she takes in the freshly cut flowers – calla lilies, perhaps – and a bowl of unfamiliar-looking sweets. “Wha-”

“Roses and chocolate, isn’t that what you said?” Darcy feels tears prick at her eyes. _Damn sentimental jerk._ “Or is that not right?” Loki asks worriedly. “I had to improvise – my mother’s garden doesn’t have roses. And I wasn’t sure what chocolate wa-” Darcy sets the box onto the spot beside her and leaps up, throwing herself into Loki’s arms… almost knocking him over in the process. “Miss Lewis!” he exclaims, startled.

“Loki,” she grins, tilting her head. “Thank you.” She presses a kiss to his cheek before she can re-think this. “It’s perfect,” she adds, her arms tightening their hold around him.

“Fitting, then,” Loki whispers into her ear. “Perfection deserves perfection.”

This time, Darcy doesn’t stop to think before kissing him.


	5. Chasing the Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: AU where every Valentine's day everyone has a red string only they can see linking them to their soulmate.

'Chasing the light,' they call it: feet obediently following paths painted in red brushstrokes, bright compass marks visible even through the dreariest fog.

If cats could see the strings they'd have a field day, Darcy tells her teacher the first time she learns the meaning of the strange glowing string that appears only once a year.

"Wouldn't that get rather chaotic?" Ms. Croft asks indulgently, and though she would never say it aloud, Darcy is disappointed by her favourite teacher's predictably adult response. She nods a 'yes,' knowing that it's the right answer. But in her opinion, a little pandemonium would be monumentally more fun.

In gym class, handouts emblazoned with catchy titles like 'The Beauty of True Love' are passed out alongside flu shot reminders. Darcy doodles pictures in the margins: cats taking over the city of New York, paws batting curiously at the millions of strings suspended in the air.

That Valentine's, Darcy looks at the thread around her finger with renewed interest as her mother tucks her into bed.

"Mommy, I think God is my soulmate," she says with childish assuredness. Darcy has always been a weird kid.

"Oh honey, why do you think that?"

"Because my string points to the sky," Darcy answers matter-of-factly.

"The sky?"

Her mother asks the question obligingly, like this is another one of Darcy's stories. Darcy's in grade two, now, and she has entered that phase all children seem to go through, where she's learning to stretch the truth. She tells silly lies, things like how many cousins she has, or that they have a pool in the backyard.

But Darcy looks so sincere, so convinced of what she's saying.

"Yes," she answers simply, making her mother feel - not for the first time - that her daughter knows something she doesn't.

"Alright. Go to sleep, sweetie," Mrs. Lewis whispers, pressing a kiss Darcy's forehead.

As the little girl drifts off, Mrs. Lewis watches from the doorway, worry painting her features.

\--

By the tenth grade, Darcy is a hardened cynic. The soulmates thing is now packing a whole different punch with the government's official sex ed program, aka the 'abstinence or doom and ruin' plan. Abstinence is romantic now, a means of 'saving yourself' for the One.

Darcy loses her virginity in an act of defiance. She propositions Brian Michaelson in French class - who says romance is dead? - and it's a done deal. One awkward minute of cramped limbs and sloppy kisses in a public bathroom stall, and she's officially deflowered.

It doesn't feel like the one-way descent into sin that Darcy feels she was owed. It doesn't feel like anything much at all.

That February 14th, Darcy doesn't even hazard a glance at the glaring reminder on her ring finger. She instead celebrates the holiday by stealing a six-pack of her father's beer and sneaking out of the house.

Darcy walks out to the ravine at the end of the street and glares up at the darkening sky, the hint of stars growing ever more visible, spliced by a sharp ray of red.

(In another world that isn't this one, the girl looks across the ravine and sees a fragile line of red leading to a skinny black-haired boy with wide eyes and trembling hands, and something inside her locks into place.)

(In another world, the girl doesn't curse into the wind until her throat is raw and she feels like she's shattering into a thousand pieces.)

Darcy takes a single mouthful of beer - like house parties and saltwater and burning - and promptly spits it out onto the ground.

Then, because she feels like the squirrels are judging her for being a wimp, she lifts the can to her mouth once more and stubbornly gulps down the rest of its contents, despite the way the taste makes her eyes water.

Darcy feels lightheaded when she walks back through the front door, a crushed beer can in one hand.

"Oh, honey..." Her mother doesn't reprimand her or ask where she's been. She just pulls her close, arms enveloping her in a vanilla-scented hug.

"Sorry," Darcy mutters, feigning teenaged apathy, and Mrs. Lewis pretends not to see the tear tracks.

\--

College is a blur of lecture halls and too many readings; parties in frats that ought to be turn down, music thumping and bodies pressing against hers; boys whose names she doesn't know and bars that don't card as long as your shirt is low cut enough.

And then along comes Jane Foster and the internship... An opportunity that literally everyone tells Darcy is totally ill-suited to her skillset.

"It's unpaid, to boot," Mrs. Lewis laments over the phone.

So Darcy borrows a stack of programming and quantum mechanics textbooks from the library and tells Jane that she's free for the next three months.

She stays for longer.

A Norse God suddenly appears, and disappears just as suddenly.

Jane buries herself even deeper in her research, and Darcy dutifully types and organizes her barely legible notes, wondering why she still works here.

But in the mess of it all, Darcy forgets entirely about the issue of soulmates. Wrangling Selvig into wearing pants while mothering Jane takes up a lot of energy, and Darcy throws herself into her work.

That is, until Valentines comes along, and for the first time, Darcy can't see her string. A feebly glowing red thread is looped around her finger, but there is no loose end anymore, nothing connecting her soul to someone else's.

It's irrational, but Darcy immediately blames Thor.

(She's more right than she knows.)

Yes, his Norse voodoo must have messed with something. It's the only acceptable explanation. Because no way has this been taken from her. That red string was a promise: a guarantee that somewhere out there waited her happy ending.

There aren't supposed to be warranties on happy endings.

Darcy pulls on a pair of black gloves and resolves not to think about it.

Except Jane is standing outside, her eyes following a line only she can see, leading up to the clear New Mexico sky. And Darcy thinks: it's just like mine. Like it used to be.

"What if I don't have one?" Darcy asks over dinner.

"Don't have what?" Jane looks u5ne loses her at 'statistically.' Darcy doesn't need more numbers or spreadsheets. She wants another shot of tequila and a good, long sleep.

\--

February 13th. It's a Friday (Selvig takes his superstitions very seriously, and refuses to come to the lab), and Jane has given Darcy the afternoon off.

Their new lab is located near Stark Tower, and Darcy walks past the building with the same reverence she had when they first moved to New York, after the arrival of an alien army made certain higher-ups more interested in funding a certain Dr. Foster.

Darcy picks up takeout from the Chinese joint near her apartment, rising past gaudy shop windows all decked out for Valentine's day.

In her living room, Darcy eats chow mein and binge watches Friends re-runs until almost midnight. The apartment is pitch black when she shuts off the TV and stumbles down the hallway to her bedroom.

She's just kicked off her skinny jeans when out of nowhere, Darcy finds herself being thrown against a wall, a hand wrapping itself around her neck. Her hands leap to her throat, scratching at the long fingers digging into her skin, and Darcy is about to scream when her assailant claps his other hand over her mouth.

"Not a word," a male voice whispers coldly, and Darcy lets out a quiet squeak, muffled by his palm. She really wishes she had her Taser right now, because as is, there's no way she can overpower him. He has her 

When she makes no move to struggle against him, her attacker slowly pulls his hand off her mouth (the other is still tightly clenched around her neck, almost but not quite cutting off her air supply).

"Darcy Lewis."

"You have me at a disadvantage," Darcy replies, channeling her inner Bond. How does he know her name?

The man doesn't respond, but he shifts slightly, and Darcy gasps as a sliver of light illuminates his face. Familiar green eyes stare back at her, set above high cheekbones and a straight Grecian nose, too beautiful and too cold to be human.

"Loki," she breathes, and the God smirks, the movement casting a terrible shadow across his face. A confirmation.

"What time is it?" Loki asks softly, dangerously.

"Go fuck yourself," Darcy spits out, stuttering as his grip tightens infinitesimally. "Are you here to kill me?"

Loki shakes his head but doesn't answer.

"The time, Darcy Lewis."

"11:58," she answers with an obstinate glare at the digital clock hanging on the wall behind him.

"Ah. Two minutes."

Until what? she wants to know.

They stand still as statues, Darcy growing increasingly aware of the chill that seems to radiate from Loki. Her toes curl against the floorboards, bare legs trembling ever so slightly.

11:59.

"Why are you here?" Darcy asks, her palms growing clammy as they slide against his unyielding hold on her neck.

Loki says nothing.

12:00.

"No."

Darcy can't believe it. She refuses to.

A red string hangs lazily between them, one end tightly knotted around Darcy's ring finger, and the other leading straight to Loki.

The God's eyes are wide, angry.

"Fuck," he curses, letting go of her and stepping back. Darcy's hands fall to her sides.

She's scared and shaking and she thinks the pamphlets they gave out in school lied, because she doesn't feel fulfilled or whole or happy right now. She feels like she wants to break something. She feels like she wants to hurt someone. She feels too much, and she wants it to stop.

"No," Darcy repeats. "This isn't right. I don't... I don't want you."

"The sentiment is mutual, I assure you," Loki growls, and Darcy imagines strangling him with that stupid string of fate.

Despite their words, they gravitate toward each other, pulled closer and closer by the red thread between them. They're circling each other, sizing up the opponent.

Loki is the one to make the first move, grabbing Darcy by the shoulders and crashing his lips onto hers. Darcy leans into the kiss, gasping against his mouth as she falls onto the mattress.

Loki lands on top of her, the springs bouncing as he recaptures her lips. His arms are bracketed around her, careful to keep his weight off her.

"I don't need a soulmate," Darcy says breathlessly, pulling away. "Least of all a homicidal maniac with dramatic flare and a stupid helmet."

"It's not stupid," Loki snaps, and they both freeze.

Darcy stares at him for a moment - she can't quite contain a small giggle - and Loki's ears turn pink in the moonlight.

"Of all the things to pick up on, of course you'd be offended by the dig at your horns," she laughs and Loki narrows his nostrils.

"I fail to see what is so amusing," he says primly, but his lips are twitching.

Darcy lifts her head and easily recaptures his lips.

"Idiot."

"I am a Go-"

His breath hitches in a distinctly ungodly way when Darcy slides her hands down his chest.

"A God?" She bites her lip when she reaches the clasp of his leather pants, and Darcy utters a silent thank you that he left the cape and helmet at home. "Prove it," she enunciates clearly. "Or I'm telling everyone that those horns are a form of compensa-"

Loki swallows her laugh, tongue slipping between those enticing lips as he lifts her hands above her head, red light pooling on her pillow, bleeding through their entwined fingers, pulsing bright and true and heavenly.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried but this refused to be fluffy for the most part... I hope it's good??? Also apparently I have a thing for Loki and chokeholds. Who knew?


	6. PLACEHOLDER IGNORE THIS SORRY

The Loki POV to Chasing the Light will be posted here at some point... Until then, ignore this


	7. With All Due Respect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "They both want the last copy of a book at the library"

No children are allowed in the east wing. Not since the incident involving the baby bilgesnipe in Odin's study.

Loki and Thor are widely believed responsible, but the young princes fervently deny having anything to do with it, resulting in the Allfather's declaration that the entire area is off-limits.

This would be a great punishment, indeed, if anything of consequence to a young boy stood in that part of the palace. But Thor holds little interest in the elegant drawing rooms and curved balconies, and Loki has already found a way to sneak into the great library that lies just beyond the Allfather's refurbished study.

After all, an edict can hardly come between the younger prince and a room full of books: books on runes, books on spells, books with stains on their spines and yellowing pages, books from other realms, books from Vanaheim, from Midgard... If Odin or Frigga notice that their books have developed the habit of disappearing for weeks on end, neither one comments on it.

\--

Someone else is in the library. A girl.

She's pretty, Loki supposes, in a common sort of way. (His mind wants to point out that the curves hidden under that blue dress are very much not common, but she's trespassing on his library and so he has no patience for her or her curves.)

The boy is careful to take quiet steps, only alerting her to his presence when he's directly behind her.

"You aren't allowed in here," he announces firmly.

The girl whirls around with a squeak, almost dropping the book in her hands.

"N-neither are you," she says shakily. Not in Allspeak. But she's too short to be an elf... a Midgardian, then. Loki wonders if he's seen this girl before. Accompanying Lady Frigga, perhaps?

"But why would one of my mother's handmaidens be here?" he muses aloud.

"Wh-" The girl stares at him in shock, and Loki takes a perverse kind of glee in her dawning realization that she is speaking to a prince. "Oh f- Prince Loki," she whispers, mortified. She quickly stumbles into a curtsy, and Loki inclines his head coldly.

"I don't believe I've had the pleasure of your acquaintance, Lady...?"

He pauses, waiting for the girl to supply her name.

"Darcy."

Loki wonders idly how she would react if he turned her book into a snake, but she's looking up at him through her eyelashes, cheeks pink, and he find that he likes this better.

"That's my book," Loki says abruptly, and he tells himself that he isn't just making conversation for the sake of talking to a (pretty) girl. 

"No, it isn't," she answers before immediately clapping her mouth shut.

"Isn't it? I'm a prince," he reminds her.

Loki has never had to remind anyone of that fact. His reputation so precedes him that he is unaccustomed to being treated with anything less than apprehensive deference. It might have something to do with that rumor about him turning people into mice. (He started that one himself.)

"So?"

Loki has to seriously question whoever's decision it was to name her a handmaiden; this Lady Darcy doesn't seem the least bit cut out for serving anyone.

"I wish to read it."

"With all due respect, Your Highness, I found it first."

She's either brave, stupid, or woefully misinformed about Asgard's prince, to be so blunt.

"You aren't very obedient," Loki remarks.

"You haven't asked anything of me."

"Very well. Give me the book."

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because I- Hey! Give it back!"

Loki almost sticks his tongue out at her, raising the book high above his head.

"Shan't."

He's being childish, he knows, but it's so much fun.

"Please?"

"Oh, that's very nice, but you can do better," Loki mocks. "What if I said you could have the book... for a price?"

"What price?" Darcy asks, and Loki doesn't miss the way her eyes dart to the door. She's off-guard, now.

"A kiss."

The girl blinks at him, like she isn't sure if this is one of his infamous tricks or not. Loki isn't sure either.

"Fine."

He smirks, lowering his arms to place a hand at her waist, and she lets out a fluttery little breath. Darcy closes her eyes, leaning closer, her lips only a fraction away from his, and...

Loki hears a laugh, and realizes that the book is no longer in his grasp, and is instead in the triumphant hold of a certain Lady Darcy.

"You cheated!"

"I tricked you," Darcy corrects him. Then she takes a small step forward, tucking the book behind her back, and presses her mouth against his. "That was for the book," she explains, pulling back and staring up into Loki's green eyes.

They both stay perfectly still for a moment, and Darcy lifts her chin hesitantly before kissing Loki again. This time, his lips move with hers; she sighs as he lifts a hand up to cup her cheek, his tongue darting out to part those red lips...

When Darcy steps away, her cheeks are flushed, her hair mussed on one side.

Loki opens his mouth to speak, but Darcy offers only a small curtsy and hurries toward the door.

"What was that for?" he calls out.

She pauses, considering the question.

"Because I wanted to."

A crooked grin spreads across Loki's face, and as the door clicks behind her, the prince lazily trails his fingers over the clothbound spines of Dickens novels.

Yes, he'll certainly be paying his mother more frequent visits, he decides, pulling a book off the shelf and beginning to read...

 


	8. Imagine... Dragons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Darcy forces Loki to go to a musical with her. And he starts magically ‘improving’ the show. Like…I dunno…making a fake dragon real?" For the wonderful leftennant here on AO3 :)

"... And why are they always singing?"

"Loki, it's a musical. The singing is kind of the point."

Grumpy sniffs disapprovingly.

"It's unrealistic."

A bell rings, signaling the end of intermission.

"What, and the dragon in the corner is?" Darcy whispers as people file back into the auditorium. Be strong, Lewis. One hour to go.

"You have a point," Loki concedes. "They couldn't even bring a proper dragon."

Darcy could swear her heart stops.

"'Proper'?" she squeaks. "What do you mean, 'proper'?" If it weren't Loki talking, Darcy would probably be freaking out about the revelation that dragons actually exist, but she has more pressing things to deal with. Namely, the expression on Loki's face, the one that Darcy recognizes as the self-contented smirk he always makes right before Tony runs into the room yelling at him to clean the itching powder out of his Mark whatever. She has a sickening feeling that she knows exactly where this is going. "Oh, no. No. Don't you da-"

Someone in the row ahead of them shushes her, and Darcy shuts her mouth, eyes shooting daggers at her date.

The curtains rise, and... this is so not good.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

Try not to strangle Merlin.

"Loki." Darcy tries to remain calm. "Would you mind telling me what that is?"

"A dragon, Miss Lewis."

Right. Obviously.

Darcy swallows.

Fury is going to kill her.

"And what-" Her jaw clenches. "-is it doing onstage?"

"I put it there."

"Yes. I noticed that much. But-" Another 'shush.' Darcy lowers her voice, wondering for the umpteenth time why she actually has to spell this out for him. "You can't stick a live dragon in a theatre whenever you feel like it."

Loki tilts his head.

"I just did."

Clearly he doesn't grasp the severity of the situation.

"Oh? And what's next?" Darcy does grasp the severity of all this - the fate of her job security, for instance - and she might be growing a little hysterical. "Magicking a Blast-Ended Skrewt into being?"

"A bilgesnipe, you mean?"

Loki blinks, as if considering the suggestion.

"Don't even think about it," Darcy growls, and the God has the sense not to smirk. He even makes as if to put a comforting arm around her, only to rethink it at the last second.

(Probably a good move.)

The next five minutes are along the longest Darcy has ever experienced. The musical number concludes with a crash of cymbals, and Darcy muffles a worried noise when the dragon shifts restlessly to the side.

"You seem tense," Loki notes.

"Yeah, no shit, Sherlock."

"Miss Lewis, I have everything under control." His breath caresses her ear, and maybe Darcy thinks about something other than that fucking flying serpent for a moment... but it's hard to forget it entirely.

"Loki, I don't care how in control you say you are, there is a dr-" Said great beast suddenly roars, letting out a burst of flame."Shi-"

Fedora Dude turns around this time, and Darcy glares at him before he can so much as think about shushing her.

"That was exciting," Loki comments, and a single look at the stage confirms Darcy's fears: part of the set is on fire, and the chorus girls' eyebrows are distinctly singed.

"Well, don't just sit there," Darcy hisses, elbowing Loki in the ribs.

He winces, rubbing his side with more dramatics than are strictly necessary.

"What would you have me do?"

"I don't know, turn Smaug into a pumpkin? Do... something!"

A small raincloud appears above the stage, its steady drizzle quickly putting out the flames licking at the sides of a wooden flat. The dragon's nostrils are still smoking.

"There," Loki says contritely. "All better."

Darcy crosses her arms.

"No, all is not better. All will be better when that creature is no longer in the vicinity of New York City." Loki smirks. "And that is not me giving you permission to release into Earth's wilderness. I want it back on whatever heim or gard you got it from. Immediately."

"Fine," the God pouts.

A shower of gold sparks, and the dragon is once more nothing but a semi-convincing sculpture.

The cloud, too, disappears.

Darcy heaves a sigh of relief, and Loki stares stubbornly straight ahead, his fun spoiled.

"Never again," Darcy mutters when they finally walk out of the theatre, and Loki shoves his hands deep in his coat pockets. "A dragon? This might even beat out the time you conjured an actual tempest at that Shakespeare festival."

"That play received excellent reviews," Loki replies as Darcy loops her arm through his.

"You're still an idiot."

"Be that as it may..."

Darcy is looking forward to Date #3.

 


	9. Eagle Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I saw this prompt and decided to Parks and Rec it up: "Imagine your OTP as spies arguing over walkie-talkies about designated code-names."

“Eagle One to Eagle Two. I'm in.”

Darcy can't quite contain the childish excitement of whispering into a walkie talkie as she slips into Tony's wardrobe. Which, as befits a billionaire diva playboy, only fits the most basic definition of the word, in that it holds clothes.

That's kind of the only similarity, actually.

The ‘wardrobe’ is roughly the size of a small one bedroom apartment, and is better stocked than your average Macy's. Darcy almost forgets her mission for a moment, enviously taking it all in.

“‘Eagle Two’?” Loki grumbles into his matching walkie talkie. Darcy put him on lookout outside of Stark’s room - once she finally convinced him to go along with this, that is. He doesn't seem to have any difficulty using the device, despite his earlier complaints about 'primeval Midgardian technology' (his words, not hers).

“What? Is there a problem with eagles?” Darcy asks.

“A problem with truth, justice, and the American way?”

Loki's dry laugh is distorted, and it comes out sounding like Hal dying.

_Not that he doesn't have a point..._

“Whoa there, Yankie Doodle. Why so bitter? You aren't upset that you don't get to be Eagle _One_ , are you?” Static. “Loki?”

“I thought you said we _had_ to use code names.” The God sounds distinctly put-out. “Why am I even helping you with this?”

Darcy ignores the question.

“So you _are_ upset. That you're Eagle Two.”

“I'm not upset.”

“Are, too.”

“I'm _not_.”

Darcy begins to pour the contents of a packet of itching powder along the collar of each shirt she sees, careful to keep her fingers far away from the stuff. Her conscience winces at the desecration of an entire season's worth of Armani probably worth more than her entire college tuition, but this is what happens when _certain_ superheroes start listing potential baby names for your children… with your crush. The brooding Norse God crush who isn’t _really_ a crush because that would be _ridiculous and hopeless and idiotic and why on earth would Darcy ever like him, anyway? Right?_

Cue forced laughter.

“Eagle Two?” No response. “Dude, tell me you’re not pouting.” Still no answer. Darcy has to resort to drastic measures. “Poor ickle Loki-kins…”

“Don't call me that,” he snaps.

“Tell me, is this about always coming second to your bro-”

“Not my brother.”

“Whatever, Loki.” A pause. “Well is it?”

“Is it what?”

Darcy shakes out the last of the powder.

“About coming second to Thor?”

“I didn't agree to this to be psychoanalyzed, Miss Lewis.”

“Don't call me that,” she echoes.

“I refuse to say Ea-”

“Well, you could at least call me Darcy,” she mutters, clearing her throat. “Fine. So you don’t appreciate my choice in code name. How about…”

_It Happened Once In a Dream?_

_Once?_ Darcy's subconscious scoffs. _Make that 'on a biweekly basis for the past four months.'_

 _Been There Done That_ is just inaccurate - well, there was that time at Tony's Christmas party, but it was dark and Darcy had probably ingested more tequila than is ever advisable, and honestly, she thinks she might have been hallucinating the whole thing.

 _Currently Doing That_ is, sadly for Darcy's lady bits, a laughable impossibility.

“Currently Saving You, maybe?” Darcy hears, and she jumps when long Norse-God arms reach around her, tugging her back into a rack of suit jackets.

She almost drops her precious walkie talkie.

“Sh,” Loki whispers, clapping a hand over her mouth right before Darcy can squawk and give away their location, and then he’s teleporting them back to the lab right as Darcy catches a glimpse of Tony Stark rounding the corner.

“High-five for teamwork!” Darcy says, jumping up and down in the empty lab while Loki watches her disapprovingly. Well, she assumes it’s disapproval on his face. Or maybe amusement, ’cause he’s smiling and Darcy doesn’t know what _that_ means.

“Will you explain the meaning of ‘Eagle Two’ now?” Loki asks.

“Like in Parks and Rec?” Loki stares blankly. “‘From now on we will be using codenames’? Did your Earthling cultural sensitivity training _not_ cover the greatest television show of our time?”

His silence is answer enough, and before Loki can get a word in edgewise, Darcy is physically dragging him out of the lab, down the hall, and into the common room while ranting about his severely lacking education.

Netflix is already fired up by the time the God has made himself comfortable on the single usable part of the couch (he sniffs disdainfully at the pile of newspapers covering the rest of the cushions).

Darcy grins evilly.

“And so it begins…”

\--

One morning much, much later, Thor will ask Darcy if she knows why his brother was humming something about five thousand candles in the wind while in the shower.

Darcy will mock Loki mercilessly for it until he finally takes her out for brunch just to shut her up. (Stark’s idea.)

It will be a date, but she won’t know that just yet.

As she tucks into her waffles, Darcy will sigh contentedly.

“Why would anyone ever eat anything besides breakfast food?”

Loki will get the reference this time.

“People are idiots, Darcy.”

Even later that day, they’ll kiss.

And it will be sticky and sweet, tasting like strawberries and maple syrup… and it will be perfect.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments make me happy *hint hint*


End file.
